


Take Me to the Flickers

by BellatrixDraven



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-15 10:45:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4603842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellatrixDraven/pseuds/BellatrixDraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follower requested a Mulcahy/Hawkeye fic, and I obliged in a dorky, fluffy manner. </p><p>*Flickers is a term for the movies, talking about how the images flicker between film strips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Antigonesev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antigonesev/gifts).



“Good news everyone!” Colonel Potter said, just loud enough to be heard over the ruckus of the mess tent. BJ looked up with caution while Hawkeye slouched down to hide behind the heap of powdered eggs. “A new film came in, and we’ll be showing it Friday! One of my personal favorites.”

“What could that be?” Hawkeye muttered. He was tired from a 36 hour shift, and just wanted a drink and some sleep.

“Beats me.” BJ replied. He picked at the eggs cautiously. “They’re as hard as ice.”

“I’d kill a man for ice right now.” 

“Attention Captains, I’m not quite finished. As we don’t have a date we need to pass this film on, we can show it in shifts as necessary.” The tent groaned. “I know it’s not ideal, but at least it’s not a once only hit.”

“What is the movie, Colonel?” Father Mulcahy piped up. Hawkeye had to crush the sudden surge of affection for the priest. No matter what, Mulcahy always seemed calm and collected, and that was admirable.

“It’s called ‘Gold Diggers of 1935′ and it’s a very upbeat piece with dancing and song.”

“Never would’ve pegged him for a musical theatre sort of man.” Hawkeye murmured. Margaret elbowed him. “What? He’s a western sort of a guy.”

“Since it’s ours for a while, I’m asking that you don’t swarm all at once on Friday. That being said, don’t spoil anything if you’re one of the lucky first.” Colonel Potter stared pointedly at BJ and Hawkeye for this. “Alright, that’s all I’ve got to say. Finish up breakfast and continue about your business.”

It took a few minutes before it settled back to normal. No one wanted to be the last one out, but crowded showings never made anyone happy. Hawkeye poked at his eggs, making a face at the solid tapping sound. BJ shrugged and poured an extra glass of juice.

“The eggs may be bad, but at least the orange juice is palatable.” He took a long swig, shook his head hard and stood. “I’m off, I have the next shift in post-op and Charles will kill me if I’m late. Coming Margaret?”

“Just a moment Captain,” she leaned over to Hawkeye. “Get some sleep, don’t worry about the movie or anything else. I’ll cover for you.” She stood and started to take her tray back.

“Promise?” 

“Of course.” She squeezed his shoulder and walked away with BJ.

Hawkeye was tired enough that he probably could’ve passed out in his hard-as-concrete eggs, but he forced himself to stay awake long enough to eat the top of the mountain and drink the remainder of BJ’s juice. It was surprisingly palatable.

“Hawkeye, can I have a word?”

“Sure thing Father, take any word from the dictionary and it’ll be yours.” Hawkeye tried for a joke. Father Mulcahy paused for a moment, and cleaned his glasses.

“It’s been a while since we spoke.”

“What can I say, I’m a busy man.” Hawkeye stood and started walking, motioning for the chaplain to accompany him. Maybe there was enough energy to shower away the grime and sweat from the operating room and post-op.

“I know that Hawkeye, I don’t mean to be a burden.” The Father faltered. “But I was wondering, if you’d see the movie with me.”

“Are you asking me on a date, you naughty dog?” Hawkeye winked roguishly, but tried to hide the schoolboy blush that was creeping up his neck.

“Well, I never saw a showpiece before, and I figured you could give commentary to aid my confusion.”

“Of course Father, it’s what I live for. When should I pick you up? Your place at 6:00? I’ll bring roses if I can find any in the minefield.” Hawkeye was being cheeky now, too cheeky. Two could play at that game.

“I’d like that Captain, I always did admire a man in uniform.” And with that Father Mulcahy drifted away, leaving Hawkeye pole axed outside the Swamp.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye embarrasses Radar and gets butterflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly filler as I try to come up with something right for Hawkeye and the Father. We'll reach the date soon, I promise.

"I can't believe that you asked Mulcahy on a date." BJ said, throwing a pair of socks at Hawkeye. "He took a vow of celibacy, what were you thinking?"  
"I was thinking that you'd shut up by now." Hawkeye flopped onto his cot. It had been a mistake to tell anyone, but it was too weird to keep to himself. Maybe it was time for a drink.  
"Because he never saw a musical before? That's ridiculous." BJ finished the laundry and made a drink. "This lighter fluid is disgusting, what did we put in it?"  
"I stole some of Charles' cranberry juice."  
"No wonder, it's got actual flavor." BJ downed the drink in one go, shuddering afterward. "I've got duty in post-op tonight. Tell me how the movie is, I don't want something cheesy."  
"Then why the hell do you have that mustache?" Hawkeye mumbled into his pillow.

BJ harrumphed but didn't reply, and before Hawkeye could make another comment, he was gone with the door slamming behind him. Hawkeye was tired, so, so tired. He just wanted to take a nap, but he had promised to take the Father to the movies. And it would be rude to cancel so late. His thoughts were interrupted as a knock came at the door.  
"Whoever it is, whatever you're selling, I don't want it." Hawkeye called. The door opened quietly, and Hawkeye rolled over to glare blearily at the intruder.  
"Sir, I have a message for you." It was Radar. Of course it was Radar, no one else bothered knocking.  
"Telegram or post?"  
"Uh, verbal, sir. From Major Houlihan, sir." Radar looked nervous. His glasses were skewed and he was turning a shade of red that could only be matched by Hawkeye's bathrobe.  
"What is it?"  
"Uh, well, gosh sir, it's not very nice."  
"Radar, nothing she ever says to me is nice. Is it about my date with the Father?" Hawkeye let it slip before he could stop himself. Radar's eyes widened and he covered his face with his hands.  
"Sir, I can't believe I heard that," Radar paused as he realized what Hawkeye had said. "You didn't ask Father Mulcahy on a date, did you? I thought he wasn't allowed to do that sort of thing, all that you know what, with somebody else. Especially someone like you!" Radar stuttered. "N-not that there's anything, you know, wr-wrong with you, but you're not a lady, and he's already a priest and- and- Hawkeye you can't ask a priest on a date!"  
"Radar, I think your ears are hot enough to fry an egg."  
"Oh, you're horrible!" Radar left, slamming the door again, despite not giving the message. Hawkeye probably should've apologized, but it was so ridiculous a situation that he couldn't bring himself to take it seriously.

He forced himself up. He could shower and dress and go get the Father. It wasn't really a date, it was just sharing muttered commentary on a movie. So why was he so nervous? All he had to do was comb his hair and smile cheekily. It would be like watching something with BJ. Cheery, fun, and completely platonic.  
If that was the case, why did he have a swarm of butterflies beating against his ribs? If it was purely platonic, why couldn't he just smile and go collect the priest from his prayers? He couldn't even remember what time he had said he'd pick him up- was it six? Or seven?  
Hawkeye hoped he wouldn't make a pattern of a platonic date with the priest. He wasn't sure he could stand the nerves.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye bites the bullet and takes Father Mulcahy to the movies

Hawkeye wasn't sure which time he had said. It would be awkward to show up late or early, but it was probably better to be early. They could make small talk while they waited, instead of hurried apologies and running to the back of the mess tent. He glanced at Charles' clock and swore. Ten minutes to patch himself up into something nice.  
"Fuck it," he decided. It wouldn't be the worst thing if he showed up in slightly wrinkled army greens instead of a proper uniform. He was just thankful he didn't have to rush over in bloody operating scrubs. He was unshaven and probably a little musty- okay a lot musty, but there was seven minutes until he had to pick up the Padre.  
"Are you still in here?" Charles asked. Hawkeye jumped before glaring at the major. "I would've thought you'd be collecting your date by now."  
"Very funny Charles. I overslept."  
"In a lion's den apparently." Charles laughed before turning away. He was humming something, just this side of annoying. Hawkeye was desperate, and that called for embarrassing, desperate decisions.  
"Charles, I need a favor." Charles stopped and turned back around, his eyebrows high.  
"I never thought I'd hear that."  
"Don't joke around. I have a date, I have five minutes to clean up and impress them, and I need your expertise." Even saying it hurt, like trying the liver in the mess tent, or a root canal. But desperate times called for pleas with Charles.  
"What's in it for me?"  
"I'll cover your next two inventory shifts." It was no secret that inventory was the job Charles despised most.  
"Done." Charles replied, almost before Hawkeye could finish his sentence. "Nothing formal of course, that would make the wrong impression..." He trailed off in favor of picking through Hawkeye's cleanest laundry and throwing it at the Captain. "Dress quickly and follow directions, and you'll still be on time." Hawkeye bit back a sarcastic comment and did as he was told.  
Two minutes, significantly less grimy clothes, and a splash of Charles' aftershave later, Hawkeye was practically booted from the Swamp. One minute to go pick up the Father, apologize profusely, and hope he wasn't making too big a fool of himself. He was suddenly very, very glad Charles hadn't assumed anything and gave him flowers or anything. That would've been very, very awkward.  
Butterflies continued to beat at Hawkeye's ribs, and maybe, maybe he was too nervous to knock at Father Mulcahy's door. He could claim he forgot. Or that he was sick. It was too late to back out though, as the door opened.  
"Oh, Hawkeye, I'm delighted." Father Mulcahy smiled, his glasses glinting slightly in the light. "You're on time for once. If only you could do that for my sermons."  
"Apologies Father, I make a point to never be anywhere on Sunday mornings. I'm more of a rain man." What a cheesy quip.  
"Then where were you last week, it was positively howling?" Father Mulcahy teased.  
"I was preparing for the second flood."  
"You rotten devil," Father Mulcahy laughed this time, a full, hearty laugh. Hawkeye felt the butterflies evaporate, only to be replaced by a warm, cozy feeling of affection. He liked making the priest laugh, it would light up the camp for a moment.  
"Well, Father, shall I escort you to the mess tent for a wholesome meal and a movie?"  
"I'd like that, Captain," Hawkeye tried not to blush, and offered his arm instead. Father Mulcahy grinned and linked arms, politely ignoring the crimson color of Hawkeye's cheeks.  
"Have you ever seen a musical before?"  
"Only in person. My sister was in one once, something similar to a fairy tale. Cinderella perhaps." Father Mulcahy said. "My uncle was playing the piano, and I was more interested in watching him than seeing my sister pretend to me a mouse."  
"Well, I promise there are no mice here, except in supper. It's the only thing guaranteed to be fresh."  
"What about you Hawkeye? Are you a musical man?"  
"I saw the Wizard of Oz once. My father told me I was very like the Wizard, a lot of show and talk but nothing frightening at all."  
"If it makes you feel any better Captain, I think you're more like the Lion."  
"Cowardly?"  
"Kind, and brave when the time demands it."  
"You're being kind Father." Hawkeye pulled away and pretended to bow. "However, I will say that this probably has no lions, tigers, or bears."  
"It is called 'Gold Diggers', perhaps it's a musical western?"  
"That wouldn't be too surprising, the Colonel must be multifaceted." Hawkeye started walking backward, watching the priest mull over his words.  
"I suppose so." Father Mulcahy stopped walking and stared at Hawkeye, eyebrows furrowed. Hawkeye felt a strange sinking in his stomach.  
"Don't be embarrassed about me taking you to the movie." He blurted out quickly. "We're just friends."  
"I'm not embarrassed. I was just thinking, no one ever took me to the flickers."  
"What?"  
"The flickers. That's what my aunt always called them. She saw the Chaplin reels when they first came out, and called them flickers. I guess it passed to me."  
"It's endearing." Hawkeye smiled. "And consider this, the first time in many. I'll take you to the flickers as long as you want me to."  
"Thank you Hawkeye. You're a wonderful person." Father Mulcahy started walking again, linking arms with the surgeon before leaning up to whisper. "And I don't mind if we're more than friends."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the film! Featuring a blushy Hawkeye, a flirty Father, and a sweet if nervous Radar.

Hawkeye should've known to expect some sort of witty comeback from the Padre, but for some reason he hadn't, and was now poleaxed again. Somewhere in his lower gut, there was a warmth that he hadn't felt since his medical school days. The warmth was traveling to his face though, and it was only a matter of time before someone came along and asked about it. The tent should be dark, so Hawkeye hoped it was and ducked in.  
Father Mulcahy had chosen to sit in the back, and motioned for Hawkeye to join him. His face was completely calm, as if he were unaware of what was happening in Hawkeye's head. He had a small bucket of popcorn and offered it to Hawkeye with a small smile. Hawkeye shook his head and sat gingerly beside the priest. He was determined not to show how flustered and unsure he was, in case everything had been imagined. It might've worked, if Father hadn't leaned over and rested his hand on Hawkeye's thigh. Warm, comforting, and yet somehow highly distracting. Hawkeye didn't get to say anything, as the film started.  
It was black and white film, and it skipped a little bit. Radar was sitting on the back table, feeding the film as carefully as he could, a Nehi between his knees and his tongue sticking out a bit between his teeth. He looked up now and then to make sure the movie wasn't showing badly, although no one was commenting about the quality of the projection. He caught Hawkeye's gaze for a moment, a questioning look on his face. Hawkeye shrugged as nonchalantly as he could.  
"The words are in myyyyy he-aarrrr-tttt!" The voice was beautiful and Hawkeye watched it intently, the music settling in his chest and making him happy. A smile turned up at his mouth, small at first like a shy schoolboy and then bigger and broader, a heartwarming Cheshire grin.  
"Why is he singing to her?" Father Mulcahy whispered, his breath barely stirring the hair over Hawkeye's ear.

"Seduction mostly," Hawkeye murmured back. It was a beautifully done scene, and the music tugged a heartstring. Or two. Maybe all of them. It wasn't set to last of course, the mood, as the film suddenly bunched up and made an evil screech. The screen went white and there was a scratching sound on the projector.  
"Radar!" The whole tent turned and started to complain. Radar turned red and tried to fix the film, which meant feeding it through again. Some of the film was slashed and other shots were blurred.  
"It's not my fault! hey're smoke damaged. And I think a cat tried to use it as a scratching post." Radar argued, even as he fed the film through again. The pictures were jumpy now, but it was back in action.  
"Why not be straightforward?" Father Mulcahy asked.  
"What?" Hawkeye looked down, momentarily confused.  
"Why not be straightforward?" When he saw Hawkeye's confusion, Mulcahy clarified. "Why not be straightforward about how he feels?"  
"Do you only pray to god? Or do you sing as well?" Hawkeye replied, though it wasn't cheeky or rude. "It's like that."  
"Oh." The priest was quiet for a moment. "He's got a lovely voice."  
"Many of them do."  
"Do you sing?"  
"Let's find out on a second date." Hawkeye said it quickly, trying to be cheeky before his face could turn red. Father Mulcahy smiled and settled back down, tracing his thumb over the doctor's knee.   
"I can wait till then."


	5. Chapter 5

It's been a week since Gold Diggers of 1935 had been shown in camp. It had been popular, and sometimes you could hear everyone singing songs from it. Nurse Kellye had even learned one of the tap routines, and performed for the camp one night. It was nice to see everyone enjoying themselves. Even Charles had whistled some of it one morning, before he noticed Hawkeye was awake, then he had complained about how some music was meant to annoy listeners for weeks to come.  
"Morning Hawkeye," Father Mulcahy said, sitting at the breakfast table.  
"Morning Father, how are you doing?"  
"Considerably better since I haven't had to pray for anyone recently. It's a much needed relief." He stops talking to crack his biscuit open with a spoon, chiseling at it like marble.  
"I think we're all glad of that." Hawkeye replies, even as he knocks on the table.  
"I was wondering, if I could have a word with you later Hawkeye? Just a quick discussion, it wouldn't take much time."  
"If nothing comes up-" Hawkeye stops in the middle of the sentence though, as the choppers sound. "God i/> damn __it. I'm sorry Father, I'll get back to you on that."

"Of course," Mulcahy answers, but it's barely heard as Hawkeye leaves the mess tent. Within minutes everyone is in scrubs and prepping for surgery. He looks down at the half chiseled biscuits before abandoning the mess as well. Although he prayed e wouldn't be needed, the Father waited outside the OR, feeling yet again, as if his heart was breaking.  
-  
Hours passed in the OR. It was hot, and the only sound was the clanking of shrapnel into collection tins. Too much blood, everything was too soft and bruised and yielding beneath Hawkeye's hands. Another kid with more iron than intestines, barely older than Radar. A guy missing an eye, someone who needed their calf amputated. Too many people who needed blood, who's hearts were struggling to keep going. This war really was hell, and Hawkeye was becoming more of an atheist. If God existed, he sure as hell didn't give a damn about any of these people, and that wasn't a god Hawkeye wanted to believe in.   
"Hey doc," the kid below croaked from his bed. "Is this the end?"  
"Of course not. You'll be up and home before you know it." Hawkeye tried to smile, motioning to Kellye to start the anesthetic. This kid would make it, he wasn't too bad off. "You've just got a bit of perforation in your legs, so you won't be dancing anytime soon. Hope you don't have a hot date anytime soon."  
"My girl would understand, I'm sure."   
"What's her name?"  
"Ginger. And I'm Ed."  
"Alright Ed, we're going to put you under, and then you'll be off to see her soon. Just take a few deep breaths." Hawkeye told him. Ed nodded, slowly nodding off with the ether. It was a little bit better this time, this surgery. And Hawkeye found himself humming again, back to Gold Diggers. "The words are in my heart."  
-  
Hawkeye left the surgery sometime in the early morning, just before dawn. He needed a shower, and something to drink. But as he was walking toward the Swamp, to his beloved still, sweet, sweet gin and sleep, and something that smelled better than antiseptic and blood and ether, he ran once again, into Father Mulcahy.  
"Sorry Padre, didn't see you there."  
"It's quite okay Hawkeye."  
"You didn't have to pray for anyone today." And it's meant to be nice, lighthearted, a sort of gratitude that nobody had died in the OR. But this time, it's too worn out to be happy.   
"I always pray Hawkeye, you know that." Mulcahy replies. He spends every second in surgery praying, whether it's aloud or not. He prays for everyone, and he does his best that it's not always Catholic. Methodist hymns and Baptist phrases, and Jewish words run through his head so often that sometimes, he's not even sure he's Catholic anymore. He spends so much time praying, he's not sure what to do when he's not.  
"I know Father." Hawkeye murmurs. "Do you ever pray for me?"  
"When you need it. And sometimes when you don't."  
"Did you pray today?" Hawkeye asks, as they stand outside the swamp. Mulcahy considers lying for a moment, before deciding against it.  
"Only once. When you came out."  
"Did I need it?"  
"I thought so. Not for your soul, just so you could be lighter."  
"Thank you Father." Hawkeye says. He goes to step into the tent, to shut off the horrors of the day, but waits. He turns back to the priest, and doesn't think, doesn't take the moment to reconsider that he's still covered in blood and sweat and that everything he's about to say and do is incredibly wrong. He just leans down, takes Mulcahy by the collar and presses his mouth against the half formed 'you're welcome'. It's hard and a little uncomfortable, and scratchy, but it's nice. For a just heartbeat, they stay, mouths pressed against one another. And then Hawkeye pulls away, stares, and then pushes past to get away. Away from the Swamp, from people, from anyone at all. He walks toward the minefield, but his head still hums.


	6. Chapter 6

It's not Mulcahy had never been kissed before. He had, from a girl named Jenny when he was seven. He remembered her red pigtails and freckles and that she wore short skirts and knee socks. Then at twelve another girl, named Margaret had kissed him after he had gotten out of Sunday school, her dark braids woven with light green ribbons and her lips stained an almost plum color. Her glasses had been crooked and she tasted like strawberries. And finally, on his last night at Loyola, when he had way too much wine and his sweatshirt was stained with dirt and his bible slightly torn in Revelation, he had gone out and kissed another boy. His name had been Jack or Fred or Michael, and his dark hair and blue eyes had been lovely in the lamplight. He had been a little scratchy because he was unshaven, and he was rough and had yanked on Mulcahy's hair. They had shared a bed that night, sprawled across one another, slight bruises on Mulcahy's shoulders and Michael with his hair terribly mussed and a slightly bloody lip.  
So kissing isn't new to Mulcahy, he's just sworn off of it because he's a priest. He doesn't mind, he quite likes not having to worry about a partner and coming home to someone who might one day leave him. He's happy with his books and his boxing, his glasses always a little scratched in the corner and his bible smelling like Hawkeye's gin. He's just surprised that Hawkeye, a man known for chasing the nurses and flirting only with Colonel Flagg to rile him up, had kissed him.  
Hawkeye has since left, somewhere toward the minefield, whistling something that sounds familiar. The blood that hadn't been washed off looks almost black in the rising sun, and his hair is matted from sweat and a little bit of antiseptic. He swerves away from the minefield at the last moment, throwing rocks the opposite way, seeming almost perfectly carefree. It's an art Hawkeye has perfected, to seem effortless and lighthearted so that people don't worry about him. Mulcahy wonders if he should chase after the doctor, but can't quite find the motivation to move his feet. Instead he finds his way to his own tent, flipping through the worn out pages of his bible. Maybe there's advice for this situation that he's forgotten.  
He lands on the story of love between Jonathon and David, and finds comfort. He mulls it over and prays, keeping that passage carefully marked. He'll figure it out later, but he needs some rest. He prays once more, for Hawkeye's safety around the mines, and goes to sleep.  
-  
Hawkeye watches the sunrise from a cairn that he had once shared with Trapper. The sky is painted gold and rose and lavender, the most elegant sort of artwork he's seen since he left Maine. The clouds look like streaks of silver and navy blue ink, and the sun is the brightest golden coin that a Regency queen could want. The air is crisp but warm enough that he doesn't regret not bringing a jacket. His face is sticky with drying blood, but he doesn't mind. Somewhere in his chest, he feels open and free and glad, and peaceful.   
Hawkeye's kissed men before. He and his roommate in college had their fair share of kissing, some of them influences by tequila and others on dares and a few just because. He kissed a few people in the draft office, not trying to get out of it, but taking the risk if he was. There were a few sailors in Tokyo, and Trapper once or twice when they had been so drunk that they could only make out the fuzzy colors of their bathrobes. He likes men, and he makes sure to rile up Flagg whenever he's around. He's mentioned in passing to BJ, and Frank tried to get him shipped home because of it. Even Winchester knew, but he kept to himself. Hawkeye had even offered, rather cheekily, to explain and demonstrate kissing to Radar who had turned red and almost run away.  
Mulcahy didn't follow him, and for that Hawkeye is both thankful and a little hurt. He doesn't mind really, but now there will be a bit of awkward social dancing. He likes the Father, has spent too much time writing about his face and his ways. He likes him and has wanted to kiss him, especially since the movie. The sun is still rising but the roses have since faded from the sky, so he gets up to go back to the camp. He scrapes the dried blood from his face, and looks at the east once more. There are flowers growing ahead to the northeast, and he goes to pick them. Four white blooms, three yellow daisies, and a handful of purple ones, and turns back to the camp.   
The camp is beginning to wake up, so he hurries, shoving them in the space between the ropes by Mulcahy's tent. Then he hits the showers, humming to himself, washing off blood and the faint tinges of regret burning on his lips.


	7. Chapter 7

Hawkeye manages to avoid the Father for almost a week. He spends his time in the swamp drinking, occasionally writing letters home, and patching anything that looks like it might need fixing. It's not until that Saturday, when he reaches over to try and polish BJ's boots for the third time, when he gets cut off.  
"Jesus Hawkeye, if you do anything else you'll blind us all and run your fingers to the bone." BJ says, yanking the boots back by the laces.  
"Sorry, I just, I just need to feel busy."  
"This isn't about that kid who died is it? You couldn't have prevented it from happening."  
"No, not the kid, though I've been drinking him away too. You think Radar wants help with paperwork?"  
"Not in the slightest, he gets upset if you sit on his desk sometimes, he doesn't want anyone touching his filing system." BJ starts to mix something in a martini glass. His hair is a faded burning gold, and the mustache really is terrible, but Hawkeye wants to find out what it's like to kiss him. Maybe it'll get the feelings of regret out. He sits for a moment, wondering, before BJ almost shoves the glass under his nose. "Here, drink. What's the big deal?"  
"I kissed Mulcahy." Hawkeye replies, slamming the drink back as hard and fast as he can. It burns, and he feels his eyes watering. There's the regular gin, and some of the camp's rationed juice and something else. "What the hell did you put in this BJ, I feel like I'm dying."  
"Some of Klinger's attempts to make wine. And something from Rosie, but I don't remember what." BJ takes a drink himself, coughing just a moment later, eyes also streaming. "But that's not important, what the fuck did you just say about Mulcahy?"  
"I kissed him. He said he prayed for me, and I kissed him." Hawkeye wipes his nose on his sleeve. "And I've avoided him ever since because I don't know what I'm doing."  
"It can't be that bad."  
"I sincerely hope I'm not hearing what I think I'm hearing." Winchester says as he pushes open the door. "I don't even want to know what's going on."  
"No no, Chuckles, I have a question." BJ interrupts. "If you kissed someone, what would it mean to you?"  
"A kiss? I wouldn't do it unless it was family or someone I loved very much." Winchester replies before narrowing his eyes. "Why, what does it matter?"  
"You wouldn't avoid that person, would you? You'd go see them again."  
"Of course, these matters aren't taken lightly by the Winchesters."  
"So if someone kissed another, they shouldn't go back and talk about it, even if it wasn't planned? They shouldn't go talk to the person, despite it being a spur of the moment thing?"  
"I certainly hope not, you would definitely go talk to them. You would explain what had happened and why, and then see what that person thinks."  
"Thanks Chuckles, I owe you one."  
"I've seen what you have and want none of it." Winchester left the tent just as suddenly as he came. BJ turns back to Hawkeye, a slight grin on his face.  
"You heard him. Go talk to Mulcahy. What's the worst that happens?"  
"He's got a mean right hook, and besides, he's got the worst disappointed look, it makes me feel like I've kicked a puppy and I'm never the one he does it at." Hawkeye groaned. "I want another drink."  
"I'll get you one if you say you'll go see the Padre."  
"Yeah fine, give me another gut wrencher and I'll go skip to his tent."  
It's actually three drinks and a solid punch in the arm that gets him out of the tent. He wanders the camp a few minutes, plucking up the courage to go to Mulcahy. He doesn't know what he'll say, or even what he'll do. But he finds himself outside the tent, hand poised just above the door. He takes a deep breath, and then Radar's voice comes over the intercom.  
"Incoming wounded, all personnel report to the OR. We're expecting a load of casualties." The static bursts and Hawkeye flinches. He turns to go, scrub up and pretend he's okay long enough to pick shrapnel out. The door opens behind him, and Mulcahy stares.  
"Hawkeye?" He whispers. The doctor turns quickly, and it's just too much, too much to think and feel and he's tired of figuring this out. The whole camp is rushing around them and the choppers are audible now. But in this moment, all that matters is the look on Mulcahy's face, and the heartbeat pounding in Hawkeye's ears. Then caution is thrown to the wind, and Hawkeye grabs Mulcahy's collar, mashing his mouth against the priest's. The world seems to vanish as they kiss, rough meeting smooth, Hawkeye's chapped lips feel too rough on Mulcahy's. He pulls away a moment later, head whirling and he's got five seconds before he's needed in the OR, so he just blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.  
"Father, I don't what this is and I'm sorry, but I think that maybe we should get out of here sometime and just be ourselves."  
"Take me to the flickers, Hawkeye. Next Thursday."  
"It's a date."  
"I hope so." Mulcahy smiles, before leaning over and pressing one soft, chaste kiss over Hawkeye's mouth. "Now go Doctor, there are soldiers who need you."  
"Pray for me?" Hawkeye asks.  
"Of course."  
And then Hawkeye is gone, running to the helicopter to grab wounded. There are men who seem to be more blood than fatigues, and some who are fine enough to talk and push others toward the team. It's just like every day, but this time Hawkeye doesn't feel as dead inside. He feels hopeful, and as he hops on the back of the nearest Jeep, he lets himself smile for just a moment, and think of the last kiss.


End file.
